Alchemisland

Two brute pulls to prove that I’m a man and pull

Two hulls, indulged on a catamaran, everything bulk

Acting like I’m wilding with bulging pockets for the cameraman

When actually I can’t heat my gaff until they assuage the heat in Iran.

She’s Catalan like a Moritz can

My low fire’s brittle kindling spits

My lo-fi four track love’s cassette confined

When my stories finish, listeners remark “Oh my.”